Back in the Knights
by LitRaptor42
Summary: The Royal Knights Fifth Platoon under Kieran's command; from Oscar's POV, a disastrous mission in post-RD Crimea. Darker than a lot of other OscarxKieran fics. Some battle violence.
1. Misjudging the Enemy

Cannot... stop... writing... Oscar fics.  
I swear this is the last one I write where Kieran is 100% not funny. My apologies to Diana Gabaldon.

IdonotownFEblahblahblahdisclaimer

* * *

**Back in the Knights**

I scrubbed furiously at the cast-iron pan, trying to get the sauce off that someone had burned onto it. Leave a non-cook alone for five minutes and he would practically ruin every piece of kitchen equipment in Crimea, let alone in the Royal Knights. It was almost no use: someone had decided to use tomatoes in the sauce for the meat, and while it had tasted fantastic (when we were on the road, food was either excellent or horrific), it had caked and seared itself to the pan. I, meanwhile, by dint of having missed dinner, had volunteered to clean up afterwards, not realizing that fifteen knights could make a mess as big as an entire mercenary troop. Well... eleven knights. I hadn't eaten, and neither had Kieran. And there would have been fifteen of us in all, if not for the fact that two of us had been killed today.

Suddenly my frustration got the better of me; with an obscenity, I dashed the pan into the fire, where the flames immediately flared up, licking up around its sides. That would get the sauce off, and it certainly made me feel better. It was getting harder and harder not to burst into tears, but something in me said that it just wouldn't be appropriate.

"Hey, don't get so worked up," a voice said behind me, and I whirled. It was Erk; but while the comment had been somewhat joking, his face was serious. He put a hand on my shoulder. "Need any help?"

It was more than just an offer to help with the dishes, but I shook my head, clearing my throat. "Thanks, but not really. I just..." I stopped and sighed. "I'm not good at this, despite what you'd think." Dishes, again, were not exactly what I meant.

He understood me perfectly, and his mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "Yeah. It's rough." It was a sign of exactly how well he understood that there was no sarcasm involved. That, more than anything else, worried me. "How is the captain?"

I shrugged. Sometimes when I was upset about something, but didn't want to show it, the pain would somehow transfer itself to my hands. It was doing that now; my palms throbbed as I grabbed a cloth to start on the plates. "I don't know. Still unconscious. Brand says he should be all right, but there's no way to know." And in the meantime, Erk was stuck commanding everyone as we slowly retreated back to Melior, drawing the rebels after us. It was amazing they hadn't seen through our battle strategy yet, but just as the queen had predicted, they were more motivated by fury than intelligence.

He eyed me; I noticed that his was blue hair so shaggy that it was obscuring his eyebrows. Erk was normally fastidious: clearly this mission was wreaking havoc on his personal well-being, too. "Well... just remember, you don't have to isolate yourself. The rest of us are worried, too."

It was his tone that made me look up at him, surprised. And seeing the expression in his eyes, my shoulders suddenly went limp in a kind of relief. "Yeah," he added quietly. "There's nothing we're hiding."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, and finally said, "Thanks, Erk. I mean... Sir."

He suddenly laughed at that. "Goddess, don't say that. I don't want to be a 'sir' any more than you do." He turned to move away, and added over his shoulder, "Like I said... don't isolate yourself, Oscar."

Well... I won't now, I thought, turning my attention back to the dishes.

* * *

Going back to the Royal Knights had been the hardest decision I'd ever made, even with both of my brothers and Kieran trying to convince me to do it. Pestering me to do it might have been more appropriate for my brothers, and demanding yet more appropriate for Kieran. But in the end, they'd won out. The Mercenaries, popularity only marginally decreased by the peace in Crimea, didn't really need me anymore. And as the memories of serving under Geoffrey and Renning flooded back, I had realized that I could have the chance to gain back every former glory, as Kieran put it, that I'd ever had or wanted.

But it hadn't been as easy as I'd thought. Oh, the training was much easier, after seven years of constant fighting with the Mercenaries. And I'd been more than welcomed by Elincia and Geoffrey, the queen and general who had both seen me fight against Ashera, and were being prompted by one of their best platoon captains. In fact, after accepting Elincia's formal invitation to rejoin the Knights, I'd been promoted right into the officers.

No, it was the awkwardness of being placed into the platoon commanded by my lover. There was really no other way to put it. Officers weren't supposed to have relationships of any kind beyond cameraderie and plain friendship, but that was impossible with Kieran. To be fair, he was an excellent commander for his platoon: he had to be told every order verbatim, of course, otherwise he would run off and fight too fiercely for the other men to keep up. But in a time of peace, when we were merely qualming leftover rebellions and maintaining royal sovereignty, Kieran could be counted upon to unswervingly serve the queen's interests. Which, in all consideration, was probably the most important part of our duties nowadays.

But he made it absolutely impossible for me to ignore him. There was never any question of treating me fairly outside our nighttime relations: I was one of the officers, somewhat lower because of my six-year hiatus, but a respected member of the Knights nonetheless. At the same time, I didn't get any special treatment: it was obey the captain's orders or be demoted. And I did. I'd never found it difficult to obey a competent commander, regardless of how I felt about him or her. But, later on, at night, his competency suddenly turned to cunning... and against my will, I found myself enjoying it. Immensely. It was nice to lie back and not take initiative once in a while.

Regardless, I'd always felt somewhat isolated from the other cavaliers. Some of them, like Erk, had been my friends back before I'd left in the first place, and took my friendship with the captain as a quirk of our time during the war against Ashnard. But the others always seemed suspicious of my quick promotion, quick to jump in front of me for more glorious jobs, but somehow sullenly deferent to me because they knew I was good friends with the captain. No one suspected anything more, but it was difficult to imagine how. Kieran was anything but subtle.

So it was with utter relief that Erk's words sank into my heart tonight. Looking over at the campfire, I felt as if rivals had suddenly turned to friends. I scrubbed halfheartedly at one last plate, then sighed and tossed it into the kettle of soapy water, to let it soak for awhile. I didn't want to think about Kieran anymore: maybe now I could convince myself to join the other men at the fire.

* * *

"And so," Brand managed to choke out, through his laughter and that of the others, "so he falls on the ground and says, 'Oh Ashera! What will happen now to my wife and children?' And-" he paused a second as the roars of laughter rocked us "-I said to him, 'You're not going to die! Besides that, you're not married!' He says, 'What? She never told me?!'"

It was hard to breathe, I was laughing so hard. Marcl, the young knight beside me on the log, was practically wheezing. The other knights were in tears from Brand's story, and he himself was trying to contain himself to finish it. "Well, it ended up that he didn't die, of course, and later on I went to visit him - and lo and behold, Liza showed up! I asked her how the kids were, and she just looked at me funny, and answered, 'What kids?'"

The tale finished, he dissolved into snorting laughter with the rest of us. Erk, lying reclined on the ground, was practically howling. Someone started clapping, and the rest of us followed. Brand got up from his seat and took a mocking bow. "Thank you, thank you. Would anyone like to follow my tale?"

"I don't think anybody can," said Marcl. He shook his head slowly, brown hair flipping back and forth, still shaking and giggling. "Goddess, that was good. Where did you say this was?"

"Right near Melior! Hand to the goddess, he lived not a mile from the capital." A fresh round of laughter rippled around the circle, and Brand shrugged, sitting back down. "Well, we can't expect everyone at the capital to be as honorable as our queen."

Several of us were half-drunk, and someone - it must have been Ferron, she was almost as fervent about the Royal Family as Kieran - yelled, "Bless their Majesties!"

"Bless them!" we all yelled back, and tankards were picked up once again for the toast. I drained mine down, reflecting drowsily on the fact that we were commanded by the best Royals in Tellius - who else would understand that knights without ale in the evening would rather not fight during the day? Every regiment was always well-supplied, and the beer was no exception to our inventory. Only four of us tonight had offered to go on guard duty, and were therefore completely sober. It would be their turn to join in the revels tomorrow night.

I must have slipped off into dozing for a moment, because the next thing I knew, Marcl was punching my shoulder. "Hey, Oscar! Everybody's going off to bed."

"Oh, thanks," I answered, and got up. Better than I expected: I despised being drunk, but right now I was pleasantly floaty, enough to not worry to much, but not enough to do anything stupid. Besides that, I was steady on my feet. "Sorry, I guess I dozed off."

"Long day," he said. The other men and women were slapping each other on the back and yawning. I looked over at Marcl as he added, "Glad you were there instead of me when the captain got attacked. I probably would've panicked." The goddess, he was young: probably only the age I'd been when I left the Knights.

Unsure what he meant, I just shrugged. "I guess I've seen commanders get attacked a lot. When I was in the Mercenaries, Ike used to go off and get himself hurt all the time."

Marcl's eyes widened, and I realized what I'd just said, reddening. By some unspoken agreement, Kieran and I rarely spoke of our time in the Mercenaries: mostly because it was in the past (we were both content where we were now), but also because not a single one of the Knights really understood the group dynamic that the Mercenaries had. For that exact same reason, every young man and woman in the infantry or cavalry always idolized the Mercenaries. "Um... well, it was just that he was young, you know?"

"Uh-huh," Marcl said faintly, eyes suddenly eager, never leaving me. I cursed my stupidity; everyone always wanted to know more about General Ike, his amazing rise from peasant mercenary to Lord and commander of Crimea's armies. But Ike had never wanted to talk about it, so neither did I.

"Um... I'm gonna go check on the captain one more time before I sleep," I added, and his face fell - but not much, and its resulting expression was resigned, rather than disappointed.

"Okay. Night, Oscar," he said, still cheerful. He would probably go back and share his tiny bit of information with the other younger knights as soon as we reached Melior.

"Sleep well," I answered, and turned in the direction of Kieran's tent.

* * *

"A small skirmish or two," was how the queen had described our mission, and even that had been an exaggeration. The rebels we'd been sent to put down were almost bandits, greedy and deluded. I felt sorry for them: they were the exact sort of people the Mercenaries had fought against to protect Crimea's people. So how on earth had Kieran gotten himself into such a corner?

Brand wasn't in Kieran's tent anymore: evidently he'd assured himself of the captain's well-being, and had retired to his own, only slightly more humble lodgings. I couldn't blame him: it wasn't as if Kieran were horribly injured and in danger of death anytime soon. I sat down next to his cot and put a hand on his forehead. He wasn't even feverish. Just unconscious, ergo incapable of commanding his troops.

I looked at his face, mobile features peaceful under the fierce red brows that were now relaxed, and I played the events of the day over in my mind. We'd managed to find the base where the rebels operated from three or four days ago, an abandoned castle not much different from the one Greil had housed the Mercenaries in, where Titania still reigned as lieutenant commander. There was no rhyme or reason as to why they were rebelling against the Royal Family: Geoffrey had just shrugged and said helplessly, "Maybe they're angry about being returned from stone. Who knows? It's just in some peoples' natures to rebel."

Unfortunately, they were well-armed, if limited in number, and most alarmingly of all, had a network of spies throughout the country. Killing off this rebellion would do a lot to restore Crimea to full peace. So Elincia had commanded a small regiment from Fifth Platoon to go out and lose, then draw them back to the castle, in the hopes that they might take any opportunity to attack the Royal Family. Kieran had been the natural choice for commander, since of any one of the Knights, he was the one least likely to be talked into rebellion. And that was saying a lot: the Fifth was chock-full of fervently devoted officers and enlisted men.

How had things gone so wrong? I reached forward absently and smoothed his hair down, its absurd spikes popping back up under my hand. It was probably, I reflected, because we'd underestimated their weapons. Their tactics had been rudimentary, but each fighter had been armed well, with multiple weapons of various kinds. We'd been ordered by Geoffrey to lose every fight on purpose: the first few had been fine, minor battles, merely scaring them before calling a retreat. But this one had been a lot closer than any of us were comfortable with.

And the crowning jewel of our fake loss had been the actual fall of two knights and our commander. I sniffled, startled and appalled to suddenly find tears pricking at the memory. The rebels had instinctively known who our commander was, and instead of trying to attack the weakest of us first, they had grouped their forces and gone after the loud red-headed paladin. Our own regroupment had been too late: Erk, our lieutenant commander, was off fighting a diversionary force. I'd heard Kieran's curses, and calling a few other men with me, had ridden back to find Mari and Jain dead on the ground, Kieran un-horsed, surrounded by six men and fighting for his life.

If only I'd tried a less distracting method of attack, I thought bitterly, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically. In a brief flash of nostalgia and inspiration, I had raised my lance and charged the bandit rebels, screaming as loudly as possible, with the other three Knights behind me doing the same thing. It had worked just as well as that time seven years ago: like the bandits attacking Titania, two of the rebels had dropped their weapons and fled, followed by three others. But unlike Titania, Kieran had stopped fighting, eyes wide on me and mouth slack in surprise. The only man who kept his head was the myrmidon behind our captain, the one with a steel blade.

I leaned over and gingerly touched the back of Kieran's head, the spot into which the rebel's sword had crashed. He'd dropped like a rock after being hit, eyes rolling up, and I'd immediately speared the myrmidon, probably more viciously than was necessary. There was no wound, and the scar was almost invisible under his hair. Brand was a fairly good healer, as well as an efficient fighter. Besides that, there was no evidence that Kieran had recieved any particular harm other than unconsciousness: I'd always teased that he had a head like a rock, and now I was grateful for it. But it was still unnerving to remember how white all the men had been, when we'd had to lift our bleeding commander onto a stretcher and carry him away before the rebels came back. We hadn't even had time to retrieve Mari and Jain's bodies.

That would be taken care of sooner or later, I thought grimly, suddenly steeled to go back again. The rebels weren't savages: they would probably bury the dead from the battle, even their enemies. But we would go back later, after all this was done, and find our own, if for no other reason than to be able to say to their families that we had. Somewhere a mother was crying for her daughter, and a father was mourning his son.

The ale had made me sleepy, and I leaned back in my chair somewhat miserably - it was the captain's chair, usually placed at his small table for looking over maps and plans. Kieran never used it, of course. The lieutenant commander would tell him what he needed to know, and he would yell it to the rest of the troops. Strategy conferences were unheard of in Fifth Platoon.

I took his hand, winding my fingers around his as I started dropping off to sleep once more. Who really cared if someone walked in and found our hands linked? Not me. I just wanted him to wake up and fume again.

* * *

His coughing woke me up, but it took a few seconds before my muzzy brain realized it. I sprang to my feet to throw my arms around him as he coughed violently, and held him as he heaved over the side of the cot to be sick. "It's okay," I found myself saying, "it's all right, just stay calm." Perhaps I'd spent more time in healing tents during Ashnard's war than I admitted.

His coughing finally subsided, his bare chest heaving under my arms. After a moment, I helped him lie back down. He clutched his head, groaning. "Ugh. What in the name of Ashera happened? My head is killing me!"

"Rebels," I said succinctly, groping for the ewer on the ground. I found it and poured out a cup of water, adding, "Do you remember getting attacked?"

"No," he answered, flatly. His hands shook as I helped him guide the cup to his mouth.

Finally, as I set the cup back on the ground and waited, he grimaced and asked, "Are... were Mari and Jain killed? We weren't watching behind us, and practically twenty of those cursed, cowardly rebels popped out of the woods. I don't remember much else."

"Yes," I answered quietly. "They're dead. We'll have to go back for them later."

"What? We didn't - " He tried to thrash upright, but groaned and subsided under my hands, his own fingers buried in his hair again. "Ow. No, no, that's terribly dishonorable! We have to get them now, the Knights don't leave our men behind!"

This was typically irrational of him, and I sighed. "Kieran. Please. If we could have gone back, we would've. You know that. Besides that, it's the middle of the night and everyone else is either half asleep or drunk. Lie back down, you got hit in the back of the head with a sword. Sir."

"Feels like it," he said shortly, clearly not missing the emphasis on my last word; but he stopped trying to resist me. It was clear his head really was killing him: his eyes were closed, face screwed up in pain, breathing in short bursts. "Sorry," he finally said, voice somewhat faint, and he went limp in my arms. "Dammit. Oscar... I got two of our knights killed today."

"No," I said firmly, quelling the quivering doubt that wavered in the back of my own mind, heart lurching at his helplessness. "No, we all underestimated the rebels. You're lucky to be alive. Hell, we all are. Mari and Jain were just unlucky to... well, to be with you. None of us knew they were going to go straight for our commander."

"Yes, but it's because I'm the commander that I should've anticipated something like that," he said, and it pained me to hear how serious he was. "Their deaths are my responsibility."

"Don't think about it now." Struck by a sudden impulse, I leaned over and kissed him. "Erk does not want to command this regiment - and if you're not fit to mount tomorrow, he'll have to. Get some sleep."

He didn't reply, but even past his pain I could sense his misery, and understood. I'd never commanded a large group before, but even when in charge of training exercises, I always felt much more guilty for someone else's mishaps than my own. It was natural for a commander to assume responsibility for anything bad that happened, even more so than any successes.

I moved back to re-right the chair I'd overturned, but his hand came out to find mine, almost flailing. "Wait! Don't... come back, please!"

I took his hand, his pleading tone striking fear in me. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving. I just want to sit back down, that's all." With one free hand I pulled the chair upright, and gingerly sat down in it, his grip fierce on mine. "I'll stick around until you fall asleep again."

"Would you light a candle or something?" he asked, eyes briefly opening and turning toward me. "I just can't take the dark anymore."

A chill went through me; I looked at the candle, sitting on the conference table nearby, lit. Then my eyes turned back to his face, illuminated, however dimly, by the light of that candle; his own eyes were closed again, expression just as miserable as before. It took a moment before I decided that lying wouldn't help matters any. "Kieran, there's already a candle lit."

His eyes flicked open, turning toward me, and I realised they weren't actually focused on my face. Disbelievingly, he asked, "There's already...? I can't see it." His voice was shaky.

My stomach turned over, and I swallowed. If he didn't believe me, he would've called me a liar straight out. "It's all right. I've... I've heard of this before. Titania... said she heard of someone getting hit in the back of the head once and not being able to see, when they were training and had an accident. It must be something to do with concussion."

He was silent, but I could see him growing paler. It was fear on his face, nothing less. His other hand came up slowly to close over mine, knuckles white. I reached out with my free hand and touched his face. Kieran was normally fearless, having hurt himself more times in training than most normal soldiers did during battles. Apparently, though, this frightened him: and I had to admit, it unnerved me, too. After all the times I'd seen him plunge an axe into his leg or knock himself unconscious, this should have been nothing. "Don't worry. Your sight will be back soon."

Again, he said nothing. But after a moment, he ventured, "Stay with me?"

"Of course I will, stupid," I said immediately, and leaned over again to kiss him. "I said I would."

* * *

Brand backed me up in my consoling the next morning, and in fact supplied a name to the person Titania had heard of. "Oh, yeah," he assured our captain as the two of us helped him dress. "Apparently this happened to Prince Renning a long time ago, when he was just a new recruit. His training partner accidentally whacked him in the back of the head with an axe, and he was out of the Knights for a week."

"Great," Kieran muttered, clearly not comforted. "Does he still get headaches from it?" He'd admitted to me that he was dizzy and somewhat nauseous, and it was still evident (at least to me) that his head hurt.

Brand laughed. "I doubt it. He never mentions it, anyway." That didn't mean much, and all of us knew it: if Kieran had headaches all the time, he certainly wouldn't mention it. "Think you can ride?"

"Maybe," Kieran answered, doubtfully. I saw him fiddling with the clasps on his armor, eyes fixed resolutely straight ahead. "If I don't embarrass myself trying to get on that dastardly horse."

Brand and I both snorted, then hastily cleared our throats (almost in unison) and regained our composures. It wasn't much of an exaggeration. True to his nature and the tendency of Royal Knights to pick horses most like themselves, when we were leaving on the mission, Kieran had immediately chosen the most stubborn, ill-natured, difficult, and... well, dastardly horse he could find. He convinced us all by saying he enjoyed a challenge. Everyone had gotten a good laugh the first (and, to his credit, the only) time their captain had been thrown off. Since then we all looked in that direction when he mounted to ride, just in case that dastardly stallion got something into his head.

Brand grinned as he and I exchanged a glance. "Well, I'll be around for that... either to help or to laugh, sir, I haven't decided."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Kieran's face, and he looked towards Brand. "Right. Well, you should probably go get your own horse ready, soldier, to get a good vantage point for it."

"Yes, sir." Brand saluted automatically, face changing as he lowered his hand: I could see a mix of amusement (why bother saluting?) with relief (at seeing that his captain was all right). I was feeling a mixture of the two myself, and watched him go.

"I already talked to Erk," I said quietly, without waiting. "He'll come in about ten minutes from now, to go over what he thinks we should do next."

Kieran's shoulders slumped, and he groped to find the cot, then sat, putting his head between his knees. "Thank the goddess. I can't even think straight, much less plan anything, even if he could sufficiently explain the maps to me." He groaned. "I feel like my brain is trying to explode out of my head."

"Why the hell didn't you tell Brand, then?" I demanded. "He could've helped." I knew why, of course: he hated to admit that he was in pain to anyone, though why I didn't count and healers did was beyond me.

"A captain... um... shouldn't show weakness in front of his officers," was the lame reply from between his knees. My irritation vanished, and I laughed; that was, after all, the reason I loved him so much. No one could ever be as stubborn as Kieran.

I sat next to him and rubbed his back. "Well, if Erk takes command of the troops, we'll just tie your reins to his saddle, or maybe mine. That way you can ride with us without wandering off into the shrubbery."

Some muttered oath came from between his knees again; if I wasn't mistaken, it sounded a lot like, "Wouldn't do that... squinty dastard..." Immensely cheered by the sounds of surliness, I threw my arms around him and hugged him. After a minute he sighed and sat up, leaning his head on my shoulder. "As long as Erk doesn't keep everybody from fighting."

"Oh, he won't. He knows better than that." I made to get up, and he snaked an arm around my waist.

"Wait, don't go." He hesitated, then added, "I feel a lot less panicked when you're here." I felt my resolve melting as his lips unerringly found my ear. Apparently those nights with me spent in total darkness had given him some skills, anyway. "Please?"

After one unsuccessful attempt to speak (which resulted in a small, inarticulate noise) I cleared my throat and pushed him away a little. "No, I should go. Just think, if Erk walks in and finds us like this." I disentangled his arm, rising. It was a good thing I already had my chaps on - no one would look twice if I walked a little strangely. "Stay right here. You can happily molest me later on tonight, if in fact we're both still alive then."

He dragged me back down for one last kiss. "Dastard, of course we'll both still be alive! The great Kieran doesn't die." It never ceased to amuse me that he called himself that mockingly now, having discovered sometime during our shared stint in the Mercenaries that everyone else did.

"No, but he certainly does try," I teased, and as he finally let go of my hand, I left him grinning, his pain momentarily forgotten.


	2. Flight of Panic

A/N: Why the hell do all my Oscar fics come out so horrifically depressing?

* * *

I wasn't surprised that our little ragtag group of knights cheered and applauded when their captain emerged almost exactly an hour after dawn. Their captain did look a little startled, but he grinned, one hand on Erk's shoulder to be guided to his horse, and held up the other hand in acknowledgment. I moved away from my horse to see, and clapped briefly with everyone else. A breathless silence suddenly ensued as we all waited for Kieran to mount: but evidently his dastardly horse (having fled the day before during battle) was feeling guilty, and merely stood waiting.

Even when he couldn't see what he was doing, and his head was spinning in circles, Kieran still managed to look graceful as he hooked a foot into the stirrup and leapt onto his horse. I sighed in relief as he called out in a clear voice, easily hiding his discomfort. I wondered if any of the other men knew that he had no idea whether or not he was even facing our direction. "I'm handing over command to Erk for awhile; you're to follow his instructions as if they come from me."

Heads nodded, and the knight next to me, Sean, grunted in approval; he rarely spoke, so the noise was clearly an approbation of pleasure. "Good to know he's all right, huh?" I said, and Sean nodded.

"Ha," said Ferron, to my left. "Nice to know that that whack on the head bashed some sense into him." We turned to her, and saw that she was grinning widely. "Don't get me wrong. I love the captain. But stab him in the arm and he insists that it's nothing. I guess head wounds are something different."

Sean chuckled, and I couldn't help but burst out laughing at her correct observation. "Yup," I agreed, after a moment, still laughing. "D'you know, he can't see a thing? That same whack on the head apparently put his eyes out for a couple of days."

"Really?" she said, interestedly, and looked more closely at Kieran and Erk, talking between themselves. "Huh. I would never have guessed."

No, it wasn't easy to tell: that answered my question about whether anyone else knew, too. Whatever anyone said about Kieran's overactive sense of honor, at least sometimes you had to give him credit for using common sense. Not if he could help it, of course, but when acting as captain he occasionally he remembered his responsibility to others before himself. Generally that supported his inclination to act like a hero, always appearing confident and strong for the troops. Much as I scolded him... it was times like these that I was happy for his pride.

"The captain and I are going to go out and scout ahead, see where the rebels are," called Erk, throwing back his blue mane in the breeze. "In the meanwhile, everyone tear down the camp. We'll leave as soon as that's done."

"Yes sir!" yelled Ferron, and a chuckle ran through the others before they chimed in seperately, "Yes, sir, Erk!" "Of course, lieutenant!" "By Ashera, we will, sir!"

Erk grinned; as he'd mentioned before, he really didn't like taking Kieran's place as commander, but when when the men could joke about him being in charge, he downright loved it. "Ashera's blessings be with you - long live Crimea!"

"Long live Crimea!" we roared back, seriously this time. The two of them turned; I saw Erk take his captain's reins surreptitiously as they rode away, their horses cantering in tandem.

We all moved away from our own horses to start tear-down and pack-up. "I wonder where they're going off to?" mused Marcl, nearby, ripping a tent pole from the ground. "There doesn't seem to be much of a need to scout for the rebels, after all. They haven't moved, only we have."

We all shrugged, but Brand spoke up quietly. "I wouldn't doubt that they're off burying Mari and Jain. Erk had a spade hidden under his saddlebag."

"What?" I exclaimed, turning to him.

"Oscar, did you really think you'd talk him out of it?" Brand paused to eye me, and I couldn't help it - I blushed. Apparently he'd just been guessing (and I'd swallowed his bait) since he said, with some satisfaction, "So you did try to convince him, too. Don't worry, I tried to do the same thing this morning. On top of that, Erk said he was going to, too. But Kieran's the captain, and if he wants to go back and bury our soldiers, it's his business... and come to it, his responsibility."

I suddenly remembered Kieran's words the night before; how guilty he had felt for Mari and Jain's deaths. How guilty we had all felt, but especially the soldier most responsible for keeping us all alive. "Yeah. It's probably better this way." Not all of us had to go, after all: just enough people to mark the graves that our enemies had certainly dug apart from their own.

We were all silent for a while; I knew that Ferron and Mari had been close, two of only three women in the scouting party (the third being Ferron's much quieter sister Nessa). And Jain was friends with everyone: hell, he was probably the person other than Erk and Kieran that I knew best, having been in the same recruit class with him. Now both of them were gone. I couldn't help but feel bitter, but I wasn't sure at whom. Certainly not Kieran, who had done the best he could. I couldn't even be angry with Geoffrey and Elincia: all of us had thought fifteen men would be more than enough. It had just been underestimation on everyone's part.

* * *

Our commanders returned just as the camp had been completely packed up: both of them were covered in dirt and exhausted. The tension was palpable; everyone already knew where they'd been, but when Kieran spoke, everyone seemed to snap into a sort of attention, though it had never ben called.

"Mari and Jain have been decently tended to and interred. Our enemies, contrary to usual custom, left our soldiers untouched, in the middle of the roadway." A collective sigh, something like a gasp, made its way around us. Kieran's voice was unusually sharp as he continued. "Are we prepared to move out?"

"Yes, sir," we answered together, somewhat more unevenly than usual. I could see Marcl's face, white with surprise. I felt as sick as Erk looked.

"Mount and follow," was his only command.

_The goddess_, was all I could think as I mounted. _What if we hadn't gone back for them? Our own soldiers would have been lying there to rot! _These rebels we were fighting against were clearly much more of savages than we'd anticipated. But then, nothing we'd anticipated about them is coming true, I added bitterly to my repertoire of angry thoughts.

Suddenly spurred by annoyance at myself, for my predictability, I rode forward, up beside Kieran. "Sir," I said quietly, and he turned to me, eyebrows raised. My mind briefly ran through the concept that I could really never get tired of looking at his face, then shook itself and got back to business. "I apologize for trying to talk you out of going back for Mari and Jain last night."

He immediately shook his head, and Erk smiled bitterly. "No. Don't apologize. I was just struck earlier by the realization that everything civilized we expect from these rebels has been wrong. So expecting them to bury our dead..." He shrugged, face dark. "Not so much."

"Not so much," Erk agreed. The thought was so like the one I'd had earlier than I had nothing to add. The three of us rode side-by-side for awhile in silence, each brooding. Kieran's brows were like thunderclouds, over his tight face, and I desperately wished to kiss him. He had surely taken turns with Erk in digging the graves - his head must be killing him.

"So have we decided where we're off to?" I asked finally. It really wasn't my place to ask, but with only thirteen of us left, two of my good friends in joint charge of the company, and a full rout threatening, the chain of command seemed somewhat more relaxed at the moment.

And apparently Erk just didn't care who knew. "Melior. We're heading straight back home. We've successfully drawn the rebels after us: they're following us now."

"You saw them?"

"Yes. Well..." Erk couldn't resist. "I did, anyway." Kieran remained stonily silent, and the lieutenant commander's face fell. "Uh... yes. There were several of them watching us bury Mari and Jain. It's only reasonable to assume they'll follow us."

"Craven dastards," I said, without thinking, and my heart wrenched. This mission was wreaking havoc on us all, for certain: I was angry and impulsive, while Kieran was quiet and thoughtful. More than anything else, that frightened me.

"Do you think we should- " Erk began, somewhat pensively: but he was interrupted by Kieran, between us, stiffening and inhaling. "Sir?"

It took a moment before my eyes could adjust to the arrow buried in Kieran's chest, wedged just under where his armor stopped; his face was imperturbable, eyes fixed straight ahead, but I could hear him struggling to breathe. I hadn't even heard the arrow approaching.

Erk gasped, but almost immediately roared to the other knights, "It's an ambush! Retreat! Follow me!"

Chaos reigned. We hardly had time to comply with his words before other arrows reached us, the archers ostensibly hidden in the forest. Two of our men fell from their horses, and were soon left behind. The fools, they'd fired before they could even reach us; half a dozen lance-wielding soldiers popped out of the woods and started chasing us from behind, while myrmidons struggled to catch up. But as a vicious rout battle plan, it had its perks. As I looked over my shoulder, they hewed the bodies of our already-dead knights.

As Erk wheeled back to catch up those who had been less quick to respond, I leapt down from my horse and immediately vaulted onto Kieran's behind him, panic giving me wings. Just as I reached around Kieran and grabbed the reins from his weakening grasp, my lance in my other hand locked around his midriff, his dastardly horse of legend threw back his ears and ran for his life: it was what he was good at, after all. And I wasn't about to argue; around me, the Knights were in full retreat, fleeing after Erk. It took all of my strength just to keep from falling off the horse, but I had only one thought in my head: get my captain to safety. Nothing else mattered.

Kieran was trying to tell me something, turning his head, but even if I'd been able to hear him above the din of screams and whistle of arrows, I wouldn't have understood it. "Shut up!" I yelled in his ear. "We're getting out of this mess!" His mouth moved, but I heard nothing.

Things got messier: cavaliers charged from behind us, bad riders but skillful with their weapons. One came close to me swinging a sword, and I wrenched my lance from in front of Kieran and stabbed the woman viciously. An arrow struck Brand, riding next to me; though he yanked it out and threw it from him, I could see the droplets of blood flying, and his teeth, gritted in pain.

It seemed as if we galloped on forever; but Erk was keeping an eye behind us. "Slow!" I heard him scream, and abruptly the fervor went out of the retreat, as he wheeled back once more. "Keep riding: we have left the enemy behind. In ten minutes' time we'll be out of their reach for the moment." Then he turned and led us onward.

Kieran was almost limp in front of me; now that we had left behind the noise, and the gallop of hooves was lessened, I could hear him coughing, breathing bubbly and horrid. I kicked his feet from the stirrups, unable to believe for a moment that I'd ridden this dastardly horse without them, and dropped my lance to get a better hold on him. "Hold on," I said to him, and this time he didn't answer. "If you die, I'll kill you!"'

* * *

The utter rout of our troops completed, we rode as close to the cliffs nearby as we dared, concealing our horses in a copse of trees and dragging everyone to an overhang. "How many are left? Name yourselves," Erk said, in a voice streaked with utter exhaustion. He'd been cut by one of the myrmidons on his fall back to regain the troops, but it was a superficial wound, almost caught by the armor on his biceps. Amazing how much wounds like that bled.

We called our names one by one. "The captain, and Oscar," I said, when the silence reached me: including the two of us, we numbered eight.

"How many wounded?" Four, out of the eight, had needed help dismounting. Brand and Kieran were the most seriously injured, and once we'd helped him down Brand fell senseless to the ground. Kieran wasn't yet unconscious, but his face was tight with agony, and he merely shook his head when asked if he wanted water. Marcl's leg was badly broken from an axe's sideways swing, splinters of bone showing even through his trousers; in a spurt of insistence much like his captain, he insisted that it didn't hurt much. As I tried to dismount my hand suddenly exploded with pain; dully, I noticed that the swordsman had, after all, gotten to me. Blood ran all the way down my arm from a slash across the back of my hand, and I couldn't feel my fingers. The rest of the company had superficial wounds all around.

No one knew what to do next, besides the application of a few vulneraries. Even field medicine, which I was fairly knowledgable about, just didn't suffice for chest wounds and compound fractures. To add insult to injury, we discovered that most of the weapons used had been venin-coated. My hand burned like fire, but I ignored it; that was the least of our worries.

Brand came to after a few minutes, eyes glassy with shock but able to give us some rudimentary instructions. Someone found his healstaff, and he managed to get rid of the worst injuries (the arrow in Kieran's chest dislodged, his own gaping wound mostly healed up, Sean's arm repaired) before passing out again. Marcl had declined treatment, saying he could hold off for long enough: we all knew better. His leg wasn't any better than my hand. But neither of us wanted to push our only healer too fast and for him to die.

Ferron was quietly weeping off to the side, head in her hands. Her sister had been one of those who fell behind.

* * *

As the shock of the morning passed, and it became clear that the rebels were satisfied with their small victory, we helped our captain sit up against one of us (three guesses as to whom) so that he could see everyone. Then we wanly and unwillingly began the task of deciding what to do next.

"How far is Melior, still?" asked Kieran, eyes burning fiercely, though his voice was somewhat faint. Brand had obviously done what he could, but there was nothing like an arrow to the chest to leave lingering effects. I was constantly on the edge of breaking into hysterical laughter over such things; though I knew it was still just shock and hysteria, I couldn't help it, and held my breath.

"At least five leagues," Erk answered. We'd managed to salvage one map, and clung to it like a beacon of hope. "It would take the better part of this week to have someone ride there."

"A fast rider might make it more quickly," Kieran argued. "I remember one time I-" he stopped, hastily covering his mouth to cough violently. As he continued, he lowered the hand to sit flat on the grass; but we all saw the blood on his lips. "I've made it from the capital city to Gallia and back in less than three days before."

"Forgive me, sir, but you were probably in prime shape and had the energy to not sleep for three days," countered Erk quite baldly. I could tell that he was in no mood to argue with Kieran, Hero of Crimea.

"Well, we have to do-" The Hero dissolved into another coughing fit, and this time I had to steady him in my arms as the gurgling coughs bent him in two. Everyone else averted their eyes from the flying blood. It was hell.

Finally, as he gulped for air, he finished, "Something. We have to do... something."

"What we have to do first is get out of this location," said Ferron quietly, lifting her head. A sudden burst of admiration went through my heart at her grave, pretty face, the bandage around her forehead stained with blood. The thought had not escaped me that I would probably be curled up in a sobbing mess if it had been one of my brothers that died back there. "As bad of an idea as it seems to move Brand and you, sir, we have to. Normally I would assume that these rebels are happy with their destruction up to this point, but... I just have this sick feeling that they're going to burst out of the trees and slaughter us to a man."

A nod of assent passed around the circle, with the exception of Kieran; he had closed his eyes and was leaning back against me silently, resigned. Evidently Brand hadn't done quite enough - I could hear him drowning in his own blood with every breath. Little bells of panic started to ring at the back of my mind.

Erk breathed out heavily. "Okay. So we move to another location - perhaps one closer to Melior. Once we've managed to set up there... I think it all hinges on... well..." His eyes turned to Brand, who was unconscious but already shaking with the chills of poison under the few blankets we'd scrounged for him. We had carried antitoxin at some point, but apparently it had all either gotten lost in the precipitous flight from the rebels, or it had been accidentally left behind at our last camp. "Our situation really depends on whether or not Brand is able to help himself and subsequently can do any more healing. I think it's been established that we can't go back for those we just lost... not yet." This time all eyes were averted from Ferron. "I suggest that we take as much care of our healer as is possible, and plan a course of action based upon that."

"Hear, hear," said Marcl in a rather faraway voice, and the general assent was made to move immediately, before anyone's condition deteriorated or, worse yet, the rebels attacked once more.

Marcl and Donne, both victims of leg wounds, managed to convince us that they could ride alongside us, if helped into the saddle and led slowly. We hastily hung up a travois for Brand between Balian's and Ferron's horses; Kieran, on the other hand - just barely conscious and drawing each breath between gritted teeth like it was his last - had other ideas. "If I... lie down I'll die," he said succinctly. "Oscar already... got the gist of it... during the r-rout. He'll... ride with me."

At the moment, nothing could have made me happier than to have my arms around him, protecting him. It was barely noon when we set out again, this time at a vastly depressed pace. Half of our supplies had been left behind, and most of us (especially the injured) had dumped our armor in favor of being able to breathe freely. Sean, followed by Erk, led the way, his sure-footed stallion picking its way carefully through the woods; he was an exceedingly good guide, always managing to find a way for Balian and Ferron to pass through side-by-side, and avoiding snags that might further aggravate Donne and Marcl's wounds.

My own horse had managed to keep up with us in the flight, and I tied her reins to Kieran's saddle. I'd managed to shove most of Kieran's armor into my saddlebags (even when we were in this bad of a state, we hadn't sunk low enough to leave behind the blessed finieries our captain had worn in his war against the goddess), and his body became more and more warm against my own as he grew increasingly feverish. He frightened me unduly at one point; "Oscar," he said weakly, turning his head. I put my own chin on his shoulder so he didn't have to turn (and because it gave me the chance to rest my cheek on his.) "I don't... want to make this seem... like I'm saying good-bye or anything. But... I do love you."

The statement chilled me more than I could express; to be perfectly frank, Kieran expressing his feelings for me so freely made me panic at the true seriousness of our situation. I swallowed, feeling the blood drain from my face.

Then, abruptly, something - maybe indignation? - surged up in me. "Damn well, you'd better not be saying good-bye," I said quietly, but angrily. "I love you too, but like I said before, if you've got the nerve to die I'll kill you, you obstinate, red-headed fool!"

I realized how Kieran-esque my words sounded just as he chuckled; which of course sent him into another coughing fit. By this point he was almost limp in my arms; but he managed to pull himself up a little and whisper, "Good. If I don't get to sleep with you before I die I'll be pissed."

What anyone else cared ceased to be important to me, and I kissed his cheek. "Me too. Now shut up. Go to sleep or something." The thought passed through my mind that it was really a miracle he wasn't already dead: but then, I knew of no one more stubborn.

In the end, we had to stop after less than five miles. Kieran's weight suddenly shifted against me, and I realized he'd finally slipped into unconsciousness. I attempted to catch him, pull him back against my chest, but as fate had it he fell the wrong way, and I inhaled in agony as I caught him with the wrong damn hand. After a moment of realizing that I wouldn't be able to hold him and stay on the horse myself, I yelled, "Help!"

Everyone stopped immediately; Erk and Balian leapt from their horses to catch Kieran as he slid from my arms and to the ground. I got down as quickly as I could (not very fast, since blood was once again pouring down my arm from the wound ripped open) and knelt next to him. "Kieran! Sir, come on, wake up."

His eyes fluttered open - quite pointlessly, I recalled, since he still couldn't see a thing. After a second, he said, in something of a bemused voice, but quite clearly, "Oscar." Then his eyes closed again.

Balian and I exchanged a glance over our captain's limp body. "I, uh... I guess this is where we stop," he said.

* * *

We decided against lighting a fire: our fear (paranoia, if you prefer that) of the rebels finding us was just too great. "So, what do we do now?" Erk asked miserably, head sunk almost to between his knees.

"Damned if I know," replied Ferron tiredly. Blood had once again started to seep down from under the bandage wrapping her forehead, red slowly making its way through her eyebrow and down her cheek. Since she, too, was staring at the ground, I didn't feel too bad staring at her face. It was a welcome distraction.

She really was quite pretty, I reflected in an offhand sort of way. I'd never really paid much attention, mostly because I didn't know her as well as some of the others - and besides, when it came to the Knights, the only one I usually had eyes for was Kieran._ I should tell her after this is all over_, I thought. _She deserves to know that she's pretty, especially from a colleague, someone who has no hold over her whatsoever._

Vaguely I heard my name mentioned, and looked up to see Erk gazing at me, eyes suddenly hopeful. "Do you think," he was asking, "that we could ask for help from the Greil Mercenaries?"

I started, and suddenly the air in the camp changed totally. There were only eight of us, and out of those, two were unconscious: but I felt all the others staring at me. The suggestion was completely viable; in fact, I felt somewhat stupid for not thinking of it myself. We were much closer to the mercenary fort than to Melior. I knew for a fact, having travelled the area so much, that less than thirty miles distant were Titania, my brothers, Mist, Rhys, and the others who had been my constant and most trusted companions for so long. I hadn't seen any of them for over three years, since Mist and Boyd's wedding, but I felt certain that even if Titania, now the 'interim' commander commander of the Mercenaries (she claimed that she was just holding the position for Ike), had led the team out on a mission, she would have left at least two or three to guard the fort.

"Well," I said slowly, "That's probably the best thing we could do at this juncture."

"And they would help us, right?" Marcl asked eagerly, shoving himself upright. "They knew you and the captain, they would have to!"

"Lie back down," Erk said, and gently knelt to make Marcl subside. The younger knight barely had the strength to resist: his leg was going to be a thorough mess soon, we could all see that. "From what I hear, it wouldn't matter even if they didn't know any of us."

A general mumble of assent was heard from everyone, and I nodded. "Definitely the most feasible plan of action. Who..." I looked around, biting my lip. I certainly didn't want to say it, but only one or two of us could really be spared to go. Marcl and Donne were out of the question, as the trip required speed: that left four who could ride. Thank the goddess our horses were still healthier than us.

Everyone instantly understood, and after a brief silence Erk sighed. "I hate to say this, Oscar, but you're the only one who actually knows where their base is."

"No," I said firmly. "We have the map. I can locate it on there for one of you."

Erk and Ferron exchanged a significant glance, but I didn't care. Neither of them had seen me kiss Kieran during the ride, but he was still supported on my chest as I myself leaned back against a tree, and perhaps their suspicions had been aroused by his single conscious word having been my name. I would be damned if now was the time to worry about it. "You already said it doesn't matter who asks Titania for help," I continued steadily. "Erk, you're a faster rider than me - don't argue, you know it's true - and you're in better shape for riding." I held up my almost-useless right hand as evidence. As he opened his mouth, I added, "And don't say that you're the lieutenant commander and can't leave your men, because we're not going anywhere or doing anything. And you know it."

He had apparently been ready to say just that, and subsided. He'd already lost the argument, and we both knew it.

After a short silence, Ferron said tiredly, "All right, fine." She rummaged for the map. "Here, Oscar." She spread it out before me, tracing it with her fingertip to find where we were. "Erk, he's right. Besides that, he's better at keeping people alive than you are."

Behind her, I saw Erk's face, stricken; she turned, suddenly realizing what she'd said, and flushed. "I didn't mean that, I meant that Oscar knows more about healing than you do, not that... not..." Not that he commands us better, she clearly wanted to say, but for some reason she didn't.

Fortunately Erk seemed to understand, his shoulders slumping in relief. And it was true: I was better with field medicine than either of them were. "All right," he said finally, and came over. The map was spread across Kieran's lap, and the absurd urge to giggle once again struck me, the three of us grouped around our unconscious commander, reading the map. "Show me. I should leave as soon as I can, before nightfall at least."

Everyone nodded. "We're here, right? So the fort is almost due north," I said, pointing with my good hand. "If you ride straight towards this pass - it'll be completely visible in daylight - you should keep to the fields, on the very edge of the trees. You should come across a copse of trees just about... here... and go to the east of it. It's pretty distinctive this time of year, all maples and silver oaks turning for autumn. Then once you enter the woods on the east side, keep your face a little east of north, and you should come across it in a few miles. A path through the woods starts pretty soon once you pass the copse of trees, so once you get to that point it's easy."

He nodded grimly, studying the terrain ahead of him. "Don't mark it on the map, in case..." I couldn't finish the statement, so I cleared my throat and lamely added, "It's just here," pointing.

"Okay," Erk said finally, very quietly resigned. He rolled up the map, stood, and started buckling on his armor, having been one of the only knights among us to retain it. "If I haven't returned by day after tomorrow, Oscar, you ride on to Melior and tell Queen Elincia where everyone is. That's a direct order."

"Yes, sir," I replied authomatically, and a smile, however brief, flitted across his face. He turned and vanished into the trees where the horses were, and moments later rode back, saluted, and left.

As his hoofbeats faded, Ferron said quietly, "What do we really do if he doesn't come back?"

"I don't know," I said, my hand tightening on Kieran's midriff. "I really don't know."


	3. Resolution of Woes

I wrote this chapter too fast. And I think Kieran and Oscar might be out of jobs soon.  
But my Oscar emoticon approves. ^_^ See?

* * *

"We have to send someone else," Marcl said, ever so faintly. "I know I'm not going to last another week here, and the captain is in much worse shape than I am."

"Peace," said Ferron, but without anger. "You're just going to make yourself feel worse." Marcl obediently lay his head back down in her lap, with a muffled groan. It had been almost two full days since Erk had left, and to all indications it appeared that he wasn't coming back. Brand had slipped away during the night without so much as a sound: we'd found him cold and pale near dawn of the day before, hands clenched in agony over the wound that had killed him, but his face somehow peaceful. He'd gone to the goddess he loved so much, free to tell stories once more. We'd covered him with a blanket, unable to summon the energy to bury him.

"I agree with Marcl," said Sean, and we all looked at him; things were certainly sad when Sean had to open his mouth. "Look... there's only six of us left. Why the rebels havne't completely killed us off, who knows, but if any of us can be saved we have to try."

"Then Oscar will have to go this time," said Ferron evenly. I wanted to protest, but stopped myself. She was right. And Sean, normally so silent, had just given words to what everyone (including me) was feeling.

I looked down at Kieran. Sheer tenacity and willpower was all that was keeping him alive now: grey-faced and barely breathing, and each of those breaths a mountain of achievement, he hadn't woken since Erk's departure. He was going to die no matter what happened now, and I knew it. "Okay," I said dully. "You're right. I have to go." Without caring that four others were watching me, I leaned down to kiss the man I loved, and to look at his face one last time. Wan and deathly as it was, his ruddy brows stood starkly out against the skin, proclaiming insolent, stubborn survival against all odds, his eyes tightened shut against inevitability.

Before I couldn't leave anymore, I rose and walked away, mounting my horse one-handed. Every horse I had owned since entering the knights had been named Lille: at first it had been thanks to random assignment of my first dear mare in the Knights, who had died in a battle against the Daeins almost fifteen years ago. Then Rolf had insisted on naming my next horse Lille as well, and ever since then the name had stuck. My current mount was dappled and chestnut, but she was as spirited and sweet as all the others had been. As I guided her out of the woods, forcing myself not to look back, I said a silent prayer that she might carry me swiftly and safely, that at least some of us could be saved.

* * *

I only made it a mile or so before I had to stop. Riding one-handed (the other throbbing and held to my chest) was difficult when one was in a hurry, I had discovered. I leaned over the saddle horn, panting in agony. On top of the trouble my hand was causing me, I hadn't eaten anything for almost three days, and, already dehydrated, had forgotten to bring any water with me.

I lifted my head helplessly, wondering which way to go - Melior? the mercenary fort? Erk hadn't come back from the latter, which said to me that either he'd been ambushed or no one was there. But Melior was far too distant for me to even reach.

The sun glinted in the distance, and my stomach gave a lurch. Riders were coming towards me, and they were armed. _I'm done for_, I thought. Not only hadn't I bothered to bring a weapon (not much point, since I wouldn't be able to wield it), but I wasn't wearing armor. I sighed and rode forward to greet them. Perhaps I could pass as a civilian, what little that would help.

Then, as we drew closer to one another, I looked harder (my distance vision was really quite terrible), and my heart leapt. There were only two of them: one had red hair that streamed out behind her and white armor that shimmered in the light, looking exactly as she had more than ten years ago, while the other wore no armor, merely a yellow dress that snapped in the wind. Our salvation had finally arrived.

With one last burst of energy, I spurred Lille out to greet them; "Hail, rider!" called Titania as they came in close. "Are you of Fifth Platoon?"

That seemed to indicate well enough that Erk had met her, but clearly she didn't recognize me: and who could blame her? Beyond the fact that I wasn't wearing my armor, my clothing was soiled and bloodstained, my hair and face in an equitable state. Under any other circumstances I might have been ashamed of the appearance I was presenting of a Royal Knight. "Yes," I said as we reined up next to one another. "Well... what's left of the Fifth Platoon skirmishers."

It was Mist, amazingly, who recognized me. "Oscar!" she exclaimed in dismay, reining up and reaching out to take my arm, steadying me. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Titania looked utterly stricken with horror, though after a moment she swallowed and regained her composure. From this close distance I could now see that she was finally starting to look her age. Fine striations showed around her eyes, and cream-white hairs had begun to scatter themselves throughout the red. "How fares your company, Oscar?" she managed to ask, lips white, unable to look me in the eye. I truly must have been a disastrous sight. "Your commander, Erk, said there were seven of you left, and that the rebels might attack at any point, so..." She looked behind her and finished, "The others are following us, Mist and I just rode ahead to count."

"Good, Erk made it to you," I said, breathing a sigh of relief as my brain caught only a portion of her words. "He's not the commander, just lieutenant commander. Thank the goddess. Let's go, now." I pulled my arm out of Mist's grasp (she had just gasped in a way that indicated she'd seen my hand) and wheeled around to ride back. Without a word, they followed. Tiredly, I reflected that I might have been somewhat rude; but with Mist riding behind me and Rhys ostensibly a few miles behind, the hope that Kieran and the others might live had made me fervent.

I leaned down. "Like the wind, Lille," I whispered, and she tossed her head, neighing. Then, at my gentle urging, she galloped on, faster than ever before, sensing my urgency. The short mile back passed in a blur as she led the way, my only thoughts to stay on the horse and get back to the men.

* * *

I reined up as soon as we reached our pitiful little camp in the woods, and leapt from the saddle. Four knights looked up, eyes brightening, but they were too exhausted even to cheer as Titania and Mist rode in like the big damn heroines that they were.

Mist neatly dismounted and drew out a healstaff as I knelt next to Kieran. I couldn't help it: tears welled up in my eyes as I realized that he was still alive, if just barely, the underside of his jaw already taking a faint greenish cast. I clutched his hand, surprised to find myself praying again.

My brother's wife came to my side, closed her eyes and chanted ever so softly, one hand laid lightly on Kieran's chest and another holding out the glowing healstaff. I looked back and saw Titania offering water to a grateful Ferron, a hand on her back. It all seemed like a dream, too impossible to be true. The only thing missing were Kieran's expostulations of outrage, and I couldn't help but still be a little frightened.

The glow from the staff faded, and Mist frowned. "Well, he's not going to die now. Help me get him sitting up, would you, Oscar?" I sat and supported him against me, warmth flooding me at the healthy pink suffusing his cheeks once more. "That's weird, something else is still wrong. Oscar, do you know...?"

I almost couldn't think of what she wanted to know: the relief of her first words had been so strong that I couldn't speak. I didn't even realize that I'd closed my eyes until Mist touched me on the shoulder lightly. "Oscar, please. What else is wrong with him?"

I looked at her, and then at Titania; both were looking at me, faces terribly worried. "Um..." I said, more to edify Mist than because I thought it would really help, "he got hit in the back of the head with a sword the other day."

Mist winced, then sighed and nodded, surprising me. "Ugh. That explains it. Okay. We'll just have to wait for Rhys to get here. It shouldn't be long. Here, let me..." She took Kieran's shoulders, one hand behind his head, and eased him back down to the pallet, at the same time managing to bat away my feeble attempts to help. "Who else needs me?" She eyed my hand, but I got the message and pointed firmly at Marcl.

Titania came over and offered me the water; I gratefully accepted, and after drinking asked, "Why didn't Erk come back with you? I mean, how did you keep him from coming?" I couldn't imagine any reason that Erk wouldn't have ridden back to us, especially if he had safely made it all the way to the Greil Mercenaries' fort.

"For one, he was injured," she answered, taking back the canteen. I started, and she nodded in confirmation. "Yes. Either he was attacked on the way to us, or he was hiding it from you. I don't know either way, since he collapsed almost as soon as he got to the fortress." Her face was sorrowful as she explained, looking in the direction of where we'd covered Brand's body, "That's why it took us so long to get here. Between Rhys and Mist, he was awake and healthy by last night, but until then... we had no idea who he was or why he'd come."

A flash of guilt went through me at the thought that Erk had ridden almost a league and a half with a life-threatening injury, but Titania put a hand to my shoulder, trying to summon a reassuring smile. "Don't worry - he's completely fine now. That's why he's not here, in fact. He insisted upon riding off to Melior for reinforcements. I sent Shinon and Gatrie with him, to make sure he wouldn't go too fast and wear himself out."

So the queen would soon know just how miserable a failure our mission had been. At this point, I didn't even care how it would reflect on us. Those cowardly, dastard rebels would finally be put down for good.

Titania glanced behind me and smiled; following her gaze, I saw Ferron and Balian helping Marcl to his feet. He was smiling widely, and he staggered forward to throw his arms around Mist. She giggled, hugging him back as he repeatedly thanked her. Thank the goddess - Marcl's exuberance had been sorely missing. Between that and our captain's complete lack of personality, it was no wonder all of us had been totally downhearted.

In a flash, it seemed, Mist was kneeling before me, hand out. "Give it here," she said firmly, brows as fierce as Ike's had ever been. I blinked: obviously I had spaced out again, if just for a moment. Then I realized she meant my hand.

"I'm all right," I said. "Take care of the others first."

Her face grew even more stern, and her resemblance to her brother increased tenfold. "Do you want me to have Titania sit on you?" The image was so ridiculous that I couldn't help but laugh. "Good. Stop acting like Kieran and give me your damn hand, Oscar."

Unable to resist, still entertained by her impression of Ike, I held my hand out obediently; it hurt dreadfully as she unwrapped it, and Ferron, looking on, whistled at the variety of colors it had taken on. "Wow. You rode with that? I'm impressed, Oscar."

"Moron," muttered Mist, but she looked immensely less stern already. "You're worse than your brother." In less than a minute, she let go of my wrist and smiled, face transformed. "There."

Titania suddenly leant forward to kiss my cheek and smooth my hair, and I could have sworn I saw tears in her eyes. Strangely, when she rose she turned to Ferron instead of me. "Okay. I have to go back and make sure the others find us, but Mist will stay here, just in case you need anything else."

Ferron nodded confidently, and after only a split second's hesitation said, "I can't thank you enough."

Titania shrugged, going back over to her horse. "We're more than happy to help. It's what we do, you know?" In a flash, she was gone.

Everything was getting very fuzzy to me, and when Mist suggested to me that I try and lie down, I unhesitatingly complied. It only seemed natural to lie down next to Kieran, and with an arm across him, I slept.

* * *

Everything hurt when I woke up, except perhaps my right hand. That seemed weird, because I distinctly remembered it having been injured. I mentally took stock. My legs aching... that could be from furious riding. My back hurt, but that was probably from sleeping on the ground. But what about my head, and my right shoulder? Well, maybe the latter was from the part where I'd caught Kieran falling off the horse....

I sat up abruptly, head spinning, but suddenly remembering everything. "Kieran!" It was too dark to see anything; it seemed like we were in a tent of some kind, and I could feel a bedroll beneath me.

"Yeah?" his voice said sleepily, next to me, and I almost jumped out of my skin. I reached out a hand and there he was, warm and whole and alive. To say someone could've knocked me over with a feather was no exaggeration. I felt him roll over, and as my eyes adjusted a bit to the dark, I could see him looking at me. "What do you want?"

That surly, almost petulant response was all it took. I threw my arms around him and kissed him as hard as I could, then drew back and yelled, "You almost die of one little arrow, and then when I wake up expecting to find you dead you ask what I want?"

"Well, I was sleeping," he said. "You caught me by surprise, you blackguard. Squinty, disobedient coward, I should have you court-martialed for not thinking of the Mercenaries sooner."

I burst out laughing, feeling tears on my cheeks, and laid my head on his chest. "Hey, you said you loved me."

"Yeah, so I said," he answered, contriving to sound embarrassed but not quite managing it. His arms went around me. "Do you still feel bloody terrible? Because I kind of thought I'd died myself, when I woke up, but then I realized that if I were dead nothing would hurt quite so badly." He paused, and added, a little shyly, "And because... well, because you were here, too.

I thought my heart might burst with happiness. "Yes, I still feel bloody terrible. Even more so now that you're obnoxious again."

"Hello? I hear voices," said someone abruptly, startling us both, and a flap into the tent opened. Kieran and I hastily scrambled apart, but it wouldn't have mattered. I almost immediately realized who the entering silhouette belonged to, and leapt to my feet.

"Rhys!" He let out a small 'oof' as I embraced him much too heartily, but laughed and hugged me back one-handed, the other extended, holding a lit candle. "You're here!"

"Naturally. As soon as I heard the great Kieran was amongst the wounded I knew you'd need me," Rhys said, grinning. It was difficult to tell in the dark, but as I drew away it seemed as if he looked unnaturally energetic, eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Bah," said Kieran himself, trying to look disapproving: but he couldn't help the corner of his mouth from twitching, too. I couldn't tell if Rhys was attempting to be sarcastic, but if so it was rightly earned: he'd spent more time trying to keep Kieran from hurting himself than almost anyone else in the Mercenaries.

"So... besides minor aches and pains, are you guys feeling all right?" Rhys asked, peering at us closely. "If you're curious, the others are outside around the campfire. Mist did a fantastic job on that one fellow's leg: he's been stalking around all night."

"We're fine, I think. And that's good to know about Marcl," I said. Rhys's presence made everything feel even more surreal, but at the same time I was immensely comforted by the thought that if he was here, Titania and all the others were certainly outside.

"We should go join them!" exclaimed Kieran, getting to his feet somewhat more slowly than I had, but standing straight.

"Uh-huh. That would be a great idea," Rhys said, voice still mild, but this time I was sure of it. That had definitely been sarcasm. "Do me a favor and look at this flame. Now follow it with your eyes." He waved it back and forth slowly, Kieran obediently looking at it. Then Rhys sighed, clearly satisfied. "Well... maybe you'd be okay going out, at least for a bit. That's taken care of, anyway."

Mystified, Kieran asked, "What is?" Then I felt his hand take mine and squeeze; it occurred to me that he might have just realized he could see again, and I smothered a laugh.

"I would say you haven't got enough brains to understand it," Rhys said patiently, already turned away, halfway out of the tent, "but since that part of your body was the problem in the first place, it'd sort of be a lie. Glad you two are feeling better. I'll be outside with Titania, Mist, and Boyd if you need anything." He sailed out as quickly as he'd come in, white robe reflecting the moonlight.

Kieran and I both stared after him. "Did he always used to be like that, and I was just a lot more oblivious?" he asked, after a moment, turning to me. It occurred to me that we were both standing up, yet neither of our heads were touching a ceiling of any kind. They must have set up the captain's tent we'd dragged along.

"No, that was weird," I agreed. "Seems like he's satisfied that we're all right, though."

His eyes turned to me, and with the tent flap open and the moon streaming through, it seemed as if there were stars reflected in them. A wave of gratefulness came over me as he slowly took my face and kissed me firmly, one hand at my waist. I could have melted with bliss. "Well, I don't care. We are all right," he said defiantly. "Let's go out and see what's left of the Fifth Platoon."

Though his words were somewhat sorrowful, his eyes, fixed on me, didn't grow any less bright, and it was clear that nothing mattered much at the moment. "Let's do."

* * *

Fin.


End file.
